


what's the worth of the work of my hands?

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, M/M, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:03:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For as much as Bruce Banner protested that he was “not that kind of doctor”, he seemed rather calm for someone covered up to the elbows in his friend’s blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's the worth of the work of my hands?

He first saw him in the doorway, smiling in the passively sad way that he always seemed to wear when he had breathed on this earth,in the old Army t-shirt he knew so well and pristine khaki shorts with some unworldly glow about him. 

Of course, by then he knew he was dying, dying, dying. 

The din of the bloodied life he lead replaced with the rushing of his own blood in his ears and the calming voice offering meaningless reassurances that had he had grown accustomed to. For as much as Bruce Banner protested that he was “not that kind of doctor”, he seemed rather calm for someone covered up to the elbows in his friend’s blood. His gentle but calloused hands applied a heavy pressure to his chest as if pure willpower itself could stop the outpouring of blood. 

“Phil,” he managed in a raspy whisper that got stuck in his throat and left him gasping for air that had, for that moment, seemed much too scarce. 

The figure just smiled, sad and weary, again while Bruce’s screams for help suddenly became ragged and desperate. 

“It’s okay, Clint.” The familiar voice that he had not heard in months filled up his whole being, his entire body going rigid as if it had been electrocuted. “It’s okay to let go. I’ll be here when you do. I always am.” 

“Phil,” he whispered again, his breath now coming out in short shallow gasps. Air had become a precious resource to him now, more precious than all of Stark’s billions.

Bruce suddenly lifted one of his hand. He groped quickly over the loose belt that he wore around his waist, a hand grasping at the new communication devices, reverse engineered from alien technology, SHIELD was trying out. He tucked it neatly between his shoulder and his cheek. A smear of blood dripped across his face, but he did not seem to mind.

“This is Bruce Banner, requesting back up.” There was no response.  
“I repeat, this is Bruce Banner, requesting back up to this location.” No response.  
“An agent is down.” The future suddenly became bleaker, the figure’s soft glow brighter.  
“I repeat, agent down, requesting back up.”  
“Somebody, anybody, I am requesting back up.”  
“Please.”

Suddenly, he was very tired. He was so very tired as if the weight of the world had suddenly been pressed upon his shoulders. The black nothingness closing in as his eyelids sunk down. He was so very, very, _very_ tired.

So he rested.

He rested, being pulled into the comforting abyss by the lullaby of an old voice and a friend’s ragged pleas.

**Author's Note:**

> in case anyone was curious, clint was suffering from hypovolemic shock aka extreme blood loss.
> 
> this was inspired by my own work as a hospice intern and my friend's aunt's experience as a hospice nurse. many patients have claimed, in their dying moments, they can see loved ones who have died before them. i don't know. i just believe there's something tradgically beautiful about that.


End file.
